in the actor's mind studio, the pen hammer falls
to crack the excess druid-bane from intuitive thralls,
from out the eaves of a company logo, its cure-alls.
ahh yes yes, he says, cut closer to the vein of the sky,
all those joseph campbell motto-slogans, "do or die"
semper fi, the mad in line, types of my. never "but why?"
yup. I know it well, the sacred text down by my bed
but sometimes the moron what's in your head
veers from the perfect storm to sand instead,
and it's that were-storm, where the chisel slipped
and where the hammer dimple'd the shield dipped
and where the mind calls yield, where madness ripped
that's where you make a million bucks, sonny
No comments:
Post a Comment